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Disappointed

Every Labor Day weekend, we make the short drive up to Hendersonville, NC for the annual Apple Festival. Main Street is filled with craft booths and fair food. This year was no exception. We found many booths that appealed to our senses. There was even a booth that claimed it was serving gumbo and jambalaya. We didn't venture to try it. If it's not in Louisiana, it probably isn't even close to the real thing.

I wish that I would have taken that advice to heart. We walked by one food booth that had a fabulous display of homemade apple pies, cinnamon bread, and apple bread pudding. Cheney's mouth was watering when he saw the apple bread pudding. This was the first booth we walked by and he was determined to get a piece before we left. At this same booth there was a little sign bragging about having New Orleans beignets. Could it be? Were they close to the real thing? After pondering these questions, I saw another sign that stated "Apple Beignets." At that moment I decided to abandon my typical purchase of a funnel cake for a stab at the apple beignets. They smelled delicious, they looked divine, and even had carefully placed powdered sugar on top. I hoped for the best.

It was in this simple hope that I made my mistake. These were not even close to a true beignet. It was simply a slice of apple breaded and fried.

To make matters worse, these 3 apple beignets cost me $5. Not only was I disappointed, but I had wasted a perfectly good, crisp 5 dollar bill on something that only tasted of grease.

Sometimes, it is better to never have tasted the good stuff. For when you taste the bad, you will never be disappointed.

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Comments

Anonymous said…

I am by no means a beignet expert. I can say that one of my fondest memories of NO is having a Cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe du Monde. It was a bucket list item that I was able to 'check off and star' as having exceeded expectations.

I'm living in a house that was purchased in 1960 and had one owner. When we moved in, it was full of a life that was lived.

Since we've moved into it, we have spent hours sorting through vacation souvenirs, family photos, handmade clothes, kitchen supplies, closets full of linens and the likes.

Through this "cleaning" we have noticed how the person who lived here tried her best to keep her home in the best shape possible, even when she wasn't able. Tonight as we cleaned the master bedroom in preparation to rip the carpet up and paint the walls, we discovered mini-blinds that were taped together with kleenex to block the light out and chipped paint held in place from the places it was falling by scotch tape. While it is a nuisance to remove from the walls, the scotch tape struck a chord with me and immediately saddened me upon its sight.

Here was a precious woman holding together something she found precious with scotch tape. It immediately led me to think …

The paintings of Monet have always inspired me - the strokes that appear random upon close inspection of a canvas takes on a different appearance the further away you position yourself from the piece. Slowly images begin to appear and make sense to the observer. The strokes that appeared sloppily orchestrated up close or even appeared as possible mistakes, now create the delicate petals of water lilies on the surface of a pond. Instead of images becoming clearer the closer you step, focus appears as you take in the entire masterpiece.

I've been contemplating the large masterpiece of my life recently. For so long I've been focused on the individual brushstrokes that don't make sense. I can't piece them together. The blues, pinks, and purples that are smeared across the canvas - the heartache, the challenges, the questions, the difficulties - I can't see the entire canvas, yet. But, I know who does. The one who knows the very number of the hairs on my head.